


Just About Starving Tonight (040 Sight)

by senoritablack



Series: Big Ass Rickyl Table [11]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senoritablack/pseuds/senoritablack
Summary: Rick's been watching and Daryl doesn't mind one damn bit.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: Big Ass Rickyl Table [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/311811
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Just About Starving Tonight (040 Sight)

Desperate. Aching for it. Willing to do anything. The words repeat in his mind, shame creeping in red across his neck and down his chest, hand shoved between his thighs, two fingers deep in his ass.

Frustrated. Angry. Resenting the lack of leverage, hating the angle. It’s wrong. It’s not enough. He bites into his palm, slobbery, muting his sad sounds into his skin.

“Fuck.” Daryl groans, twisting, curving his fingers. His wrist hurts.

“Fuck you.” He says again, and this time it’s a curse, it’s a taunt, a call in…Daryl doesn’t know why _he’s_ still doing this.

Daryl gives up. He licks into his free palm, wrapping himself around his cock that’s settled over the harsh edges of his jean zipper and pulls. He pumps, trying to find a steady back and forth and it’s —“ _fuck_.” It’s just not enough.

His forehead smashes into the prison wall. The knuckles wrapped around his cock scrape against the decaying brick. It’s cold. There’ll be brusing later, cuts.He ignores the pain. He’s almost—

“Fuck.” He screams again, because he’s hit it, right there, he needs it, he _fuckin’ needs it_ and that’s the new sentence he’s whispering to himself like a spell. If he can only conjure —then the sound of a zipper, the soft gasp, the shuffling of clothes falling to the floor.

Daryl doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back into the lit up tombs, doesn’t have to. But he does shift closer, moves from the shadow, moves where he knows the small amount of light permitted will catch his movements.He makes all the sounds that he held in before. He whimpers. He mews. He cries his pleases into the night.

He doesn’t expect a reply. Doesn’t expect praise.But he strains his ears, savoring the small, wanting-to-be invisible breaths. And Daryl may not have the reach, he may not have the rhythm, but this reminder alone has him stroking with new vitality, fucking himself harder on his dry fingers, and for those few seconds it’s enough. He holds at the base of his cock so hard that he might stave off the shot, but it’s there, _he’s there_ , the come spilling over his hand, his tight hole swallowing his fingers, pulsing around them in over stimulation because he doesn’t stop. He works himself through it, left leg kicking out, twitching. His eyebrow grinding into the brick when he turns his head, pressing his cheek into the wall.

“Fuck.” Daryl, says, panting into the cold. “Rick.”

Then he falls still. They both fall quiet. For a long time. Just remembering how to breathe. Just coming back from... Then there’s a zipper closing. A change of light as _he_ dances across it. Back into the tombs. Retreating back into a space where they will pretend that this hadn’t happened. That it hadn’t been happening for months. And Daryl will be left desperate, aching for it, and willing to do anything.

Then he will clean himself off. Tuck himself back into his pants. And he’ll walk back into that space where they pretend.Because he’s scared that if he speaks to it, if they talk about it, then Rick will stop looking. And he does not want Rick to stop looking. Terrified that he’d stop. Because now Daryl feels as if he’s made for it, found a calling at the end of the world, to be Rick’s secret, Rick’s personal form of release, or just Rick’s. _Just_ Rick’s. And for now, whatever that is, whatever that means to be _just Rick’s_ , will have to be good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you're well!


End file.
